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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28788933">watch me brimming with shame</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrillion/pseuds/TheTrillion'>TheTrillion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Pillars of Bone [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Assisted Suicide, Child Neglect, Favoritism, Gen, I love Phil but by god is he Not a good dad in dreamsmp, Phil is a Bad Dad, Piglin Hybrid Wilbur Soot, Pigmen Hybrid Technoblade, Tommy's a hoglin but its not mentioned because Phil doesn't really think about Tommy, Tubbo is a ram hybrid but again Not Mentioned, Twins Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade, Unintentional Child Neglect, Unreliable Narrator, associated tag: pillars of bone, but decided to just do that for another work, god remember when that was relevant, honestly no editing either this is a whole ass mess, listen no one in the dream smp is a reliable narrator we heard this from ghostbur himself, no beta we die like wilbur, not really mentioned but its vaguely there, nov. 16th spoilers, pillars of bone au, spoilers for events of DreamSMP, was gonna go for Doomsday</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:08:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,656</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28788933</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrillion/pseuds/TheTrillion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>Instead, there is the moon and there is the wind and there is the snow.</p><p>He closes his eyes.</p><p>He cries.</p><p>(his boy is dead, blood all over his hands.)</p><p>.<br/>.<br/>.</p><p>Or: Phil, and his side of history.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Phil Watson &amp; Wilbur Soot, Technoblade &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Pillars of Bone [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081136</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>watch me brimming with shame</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A father's regret</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>Phil looks out onto the world, out into the ice and snow. Watches as the sun fades from the sky and the moon rises high.</p><p> </p><p>His hand shakes, settling onto the pommel of his <strike> diamond </strike> netherite sword, as the mobs begin spawning.</p><p> </p><p>There are no letters in his home. There is no laughter, or plans to meet up, or curious eyes watching him.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, there is the moon and there is the wind and there is the snow.</p><p> </p><p>He closes his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>He <em> cries. </em></p><p> </p><p>(his boy is dead, blood all over his hands.)</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>His boys are born in the middle of winter. Their skin is hot to the touch and they both are quiet children and Phil is instantly in love.</p><p> </p><p>He cradles them to his chest, hums a lullaby under his breath, watches them snuggle up to him, to each other.</p><p> </p><p>He breaths in, breaths out.</p><p> </p><p>This is the start.</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>Phil supposes that he should’ve expected this.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t stop his heart from thudding against his ribcage, his stomach plummeting.</p><p> </p><p>Blood. Everywhere, smearing over the floor, speckling the walls. Techno sits in the epicenter, shaking and curled up, clawed hands clutching at his curly pink hair and Phil feels sick.</p><p> </p><p>(on his second look, as he rushes forward, he spots Wilbur. His second boy is on his knees, bloody like Techno with teary eyes focused on his twin.)</p><p> </p><p>“What have I <em> told </em>you, Wilbur?” he asks, sharper than he means as his panic makes his hands tremble and his breath catch. He’s gentle as he helps loosen Techno’s hands from his hair, gentle as he tries to get Techno to look at him, tries to get his boy to talk to him.</p><p> </p><p>“You aren’t meant to be sparring, you <em> know </em>this! Why would you go against me? Why do you refuse to listen to me?”</p><p> </p><p><em> Techno always listens to me, </em> he can’t help but think, but that’s unfair, he shouldn’t compare the twins to each other, he knows this. He’s just worried. Wilbur <em> knows </em>that his brother struggles with his anger, with controlling himself and ignoring the voices that demand blood in his head.</p><p> </p><p>He <em> knows, </em>so why would he put his brother at risk?</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur is silent, shoulders hunching as he watches. Techno is unresponsive so Phil gathers him in his arms, humming a wavering tune under his breath as if that would make the pigmen hybrid come back to.</p><p> </p><p>As he rushes Techno out of the room, he doesn’t look back.</p><p> </p><p>(maybe if he did, he would’ve spotted his son coughing, would’ve spotted the blood dribbling off his second’s lips. Maybe he would’ve noticed the bruises.</p><p> </p><p>But Techno was in his arms, Techno was unresponsive, and so Phil does not look back.)</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>Techno’s hand grips his tightly as he leads the boy through the streets, peering at everything with wide red eyes and a caught breath.</p><p> </p><p>Phil smiles gently, when he’s not looking at him. Techno catches his eye then beams up at him.</p><p> </p><p>(that night, Techno’s face crumples at the news of them leaving. He holds his twin close but packs his bags anyway.</p><p> </p><p>It tastes bitter in the back of Phil’s throat, but he’s known since the moment Techno had told him about the voices, about their demand for blood, <em> blood for the blood god, </em>that he would have to take Techno away, take him and train him and teach him how to control it.</p><p> </p><p>The Blood God is cruel and uncaring and Phil knows if left alone the voices will only fester.</p><p> </p><p>He takes Techno’s hand in his, just like that morning in the streets of Hypixel, and leaves.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur waits by the door, tears fresh on his cheek.</p><p> </p><p>He always waits by the door.</p><p> </p><p>He always waits.)</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>Theseus is a surprise. It’s summer, now, when Phil’s third son is born. A year of him and Techno, a year of the frozen arctic, of training and blood and whispered reassurances.</p><p> </p><p>He was planning on heading home, anyway, he supposes with Theseus cradled in his arms. Techno leans over the chair he’s sitting and stares at Theseus with sparkling eyes, not daring to touch the baby until Phil gently settles him in Techno’s arms.</p><p> </p><p>It would be good for Techno, to see his twin again. And he’s certain that Wilbur will adore the new addition to their family. He’s always wanted a younger brother.</p><p> </p><p>(they stay with Wilbur for a month before they leave again, this time Wilbur’s arms full of baby as he watches them go.</p><p> </p><p>There are no tears.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur doesn’t dare cry.)</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>The letters start with frequency. Details of his second’s days, pages upon pages of Wilbur’s studies and who he's made friends with and how he’s doing.</p><p> </p><p>Phil reads all of them, pours over every single word like a man dying of thirst, missing his son with each and every letter. Techno reads them, too, the one to preserve them, to keep them close to his chest. Phil writes back sparsely, as much as he can with the time he has on his hands. Even still, it feels bitter on his tongue. He wants to respond to every single letter, like Techno does, but he just doesn’t have the <em> time. </em></p><p> </p><p>He begins his first Hardcore server.</p><p> </p><p>The letters dwindle over time.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur finds and adopts another child, Tubbo, and tells Phil to not worry <em> he’s taking care of him as best as he can, </em> and that <em> Tubbo and </em> <em> Tom </em> <em> - Theseus get along great, </em> and <em> Tubbo loves bees </em> and with each and every addition Phil can’t help but throw himself into work and training Techno more and more, wanting to <em> finish, </em> wanting to let Techno meet his new brother and to have them all <em> stay together. </em></p><p> </p><p>The Antarctic Empire begins. It’s small and stuttering but <em> growing. </em></p><p> </p><p>The letters slow even further.</p><p> </p><p><em> Do you know how to treat burns? </em> reads one and <em> damnit </em> if that line doesn’t spark panic in Phil’s chest the first time he reads it. <em> Theseus has started trying to explore the nether with me, and I want to make sure that I’m prepared for anything. </em>That soothes it but anxiety still itches under his skin.</p><p> </p><p>The nether on Phil’s server, where Wilbur has been living, is an easy nether, with no large lakes of lava or any forests or spots for mobs to spawn. For all intents and purposes, it was one of safest nether spawns Phil has ever gotten.</p><p> </p><p>He writes back quickly, sends some burn cream with it, and continues building.</p><p> </p><p>The letters stop.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur is thirteen.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I miss you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Phil is drowning in work.</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>The day of Techno’s fourteenth birthday is a loud affair, with the Antarctic Empire in celebration. Phil gifts his son a new set of Netherite armor, unenchanted so that Techno can do whatever he likes with it, and also a hand crafted sword.</p><p> </p><p>He smiles in pride, when his son stands tall with their empire, when they’re people cheer for them. Smiles in pride as his son walks among them.</p><p> </p><p><em> This, </em> he decides, in the night with the lanterns hanging in the sky and his boy’s soft smile etched into his mind, <em> is the perfect life. </em></p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>It’s when Techno finally finishes his studies on enchantments and enchanting armor and weapons, that Phil brings him back to his first server, where Wilbur should be waiting.</p><p> </p><p><em> Should be, </em>because, as Phil finds out the moment Techno and him slip through the portal and onto the server, Wilbur is not among it’s inhabitants.</p><p> </p><p>Phil frowns, when fishing out his communicator to tell Wilbur that they’re back, only to find his second’s name missing from the list of players. Frowns, when he switches to the cross-server feed only to find Wilbur inactive, name grayed out to show that he won’t receive any messages sent. Either from a locked server, or his son being dead and in spectator mode, Phil couldn’t tell.</p><p> </p><p>His gut twisted.</p><p> </p><p>He messages Thes- <em> Tommy </em> (that <em> was </em>the name his youngest was going by now, right?), ignoring the few messages he gets back in favor of starting the hike from spawn to the cabin he’d build years ago.</p><p> </p><p>(Wilbur appears, two weeks later, shaking twitching away from any attempts to get near him. Only Tubbo and Tommy can get close, tucking themselves to his side and refusing to budge for most of the days.</p><p> </p><p>Phil watches, as Techno stares longingly after his twin, as he looks as if he wants to join in but doesn’t dare. Not after Wilbur had flinched away from his hold, when the boy had first appeared back in the house, kneeling on the soft fur rug that was laid out in front of the fireplace.</p><p> </p><p>He’d been bent over, Phil remembered, bent over with his face close to his knees and his arms over his head, like he was shielding himself from something.</p><p> </p><p>They don’t figure out where he’d gone. </p><p> </p><p>Phil watches.)</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>He can’t remember when <em> Dad! </em> turned into <em> Phil. </em></p><p> </p><p>Wilbur is fifteen, stumbling home <em> drunk </em> and Phil can’t remember the last time his second son called him <em> dad. </em></p><p> </p><p>He sends his boy to his room, a promise of a talk in the morning hanging in the air, and sinks into one of the wooden chairs by the counter. His head falls into his hands and he breathes in, breathes out.</p><p> </p><p>They don’t have that talk in the morning.</p><p> </p><p>(Phil goes to his son’s room only to find it empty.)</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>“Leave,” he says, on the fifth night this has happened, Wilbur drunk and shaking, stumbling into his home.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur stares at him, a plate of food in his hands. There’s something incomprehensible in his eyes, and Phil takes in a shuddering breath.</p><p> </p><p><em> How long has this been going on? </em> He wants to ask, to demand. Wilbur always dodges his questions, though. Always gone in the morning. Always slipping out the door before Phil could get a single word in, always <em> gone gone gone. </em></p><p> </p><p>Has it been going on since he left? Did Thes- <em> Tommy </em> have to see his brother like this? Did Tubbo meet Wilbur while he was drunk? ( <em> that would be too young, </em> the sensible part of his brain murmured, drowned out by Phil’s panic. <em> He wouldn’t even know what alcohol was. </em></p><p> </p><p>But would he? Phil wasn’t an alcoholic, but he <em> did </em> leave a few bottles behind when he took Techno away for training. Had Wilbur gotten into them? Had he been doing this for <em> years?) </em></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Leave, Wilbur,” he repeats, trying to ignore the mounting anger as Wilbur remains in place. “I’m not- I’m not going to let you hurt your brother’s with this!”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s face crumples, horrified suddenly, that fog of drunkenness that had tangled in his eyes clearing in one fell swoop.</p><p> </p><p>Phil’s gut lurches. For a single moment all he can feel, all he can taste, is <em> regret. </em></p><p> </p><p>He takes a step forward, maybe to hug Wilbur, maybe just to be close to his son. He doesn’t know.</p><p> </p><p>The plate in Wilbur’s hands shatters when it hits the floor.</p><p> </p><p>His boy, his second son, <em> flinched away from him. </em></p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s gone before Phil can even blink.</p><p> </p><p>All that’s left is the broken plate, between Phil and the slammed shut door.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t cry.</p><p> </p><p>He wishes he would.</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>SMPEarth is as wonderful as it is terrible. Everywhere Phil looks, all he can see is Wilbur’s work. He almost wishes that he’d never joined the server in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>But he’d come, because Techno had asked it of him, and because Techno had wanted to see if they could expand the Antarctic Empire. He’d come, and there was no turning back.</p><p> </p><p>(it’s like a punch to the gut, seeing Wilbur once more, standing among the Admin’s of the server and explaining the rules in place. A knife twisting into his heart as his boy tells everyone of the mechanics in place to help them develop territories, their own personal countries.</p><p> </p><p>He looks happy, standing up there. Afterwards, when they are all being released upon the world, Phil almost walks up to him, almost goes to him and apologizes, asks for him to come back. Tommy is so quiet, with Wilbur gone. Tubbo cries, at night, hiding in Tommy’s room. Techno can’t seem to look him in the eyes, most days.</p><p> </p><p>But he doesn’t go up to him.</p><p> </p><p>He never does.)</p><p> </p><p>Phil swallows thickly, standing on Wilbur’s bridge, standing on the evidence of his son’s hard work. He stares at the man swinging his legs off the edge across from him. Stares at his boy as he does anything but look at him.</p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t expected to see Wilbur here, for all that it was his bridge and that he was closest to his territory. It was late, close to midnight, and anyone using the bridge should’ve also been using the minecarts to get around.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s late, you know,” and that makes Phil jump, because Wilbur hasn’t turned to him, isn’t looking at him, but his voice carries and it’s so damn loud, and Phil can’t remember what the last thing is that his son said to him.</p><p> </p><p>“It is,” he agrees, after a too long pause, stepping closer even as he sees Wilbur tense, shoulders tightening, hunching over more.</p><p> </p><p>There’s scar tissue, on his neck. Knotted and ugly, mixed with starburst burns like an explosion and crawling burns like something eating away at his skin.</p><p> </p><p>They didn’t look new.</p><p> </p><p>How had Phil never seen them before?</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you out here?”</p><p> </p><p>“What, can’t sit on my own bridge now? And here I thought you had not control over me anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>Phil felt sick. There was bitterness, there, and pain. A concoction of regret and guilt and <em> exhilaration </em> filled him, horrid in that he was finally, <em> finally, </em>talking to his second again, even if he didn’t seem to want to talk to him.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he settled himself next to Wilbur, resisting the urge to drag the boy into his wings, instead tucking them tight to his back. “It’s just like you said, it’s late.”</p><p> </p><p>Here, next to him, Phil can see the left side of Wilbur’s face, see the scars clawing their way over his cheek.</p><p> </p><p><em> Fuck, </em>how had he never noticed them? They stood starkly against his skin, glaringly obvious even in the low light. Concealer, maybe?</p><p> </p><p>But where would Wilbur learn that? When did he even get the scars?</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur caught his eye, staring right back at him. He scoffed, moments later, jerking his head away.</p><p> </p><p>Stay out of Newfoundland, Philza,” he snapped, standing up. “You’re not welcome.”</p><p> </p><p>“You have a peace treaty with the Antarctic empire,” Phil pointed out, ignoring the twist in his gut at hearing his son call him his full name. It felt wrong, but then again- when had talking to his son ever <em> not </em> felt wrong? Stilted and uncomfortable and so undoubtedly <em> wrong. </em></p><p> </p><p>“I have a peace treaty with <em> Technoblade. </em>Not you. Never you.”</p><p> </p><p>He walked away.</p><p> </p><p>Phil watched him go. Let him go. Offered up no resistance to his son leaving him.</p><p> </p><p>The image of Wilbur’s back will forever be burned into his mind.</p><p> </p><p>(world domination happens, the trials, his son standing against him. He strikes an imposing figure, for all that it is mostly for play, as he stands at his podium and reads their crimes out for them.</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, Phil sees a blue cloak, wrapped around his boy’s shoulders. Sees the colors of the Antarctic Empire worn proudly, on display for all to see. Showing his pride and his alliance.</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, he sees what could’ve been.</p><p> </p><p>And then it was gone, and the judge and jury calls for their execution.)</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>The servers closes. Phil watches at spawn as everyone clumps together, having long moved their items they were able to transport cross-server and now only remaining behind to say their goodbyes. Wilbur throws his arms around Techno, squeezing his arms around his twin tight.</p><p> </p><p>When he steps away and through the portal, he doesn’t spare Phil a glance.</p><p> </p><p>He pretends that that doesn’t burn.</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>The Antarctic Empire is disbanded. Techno leaves to go find a home on the Hypixel servers. Tommy and Tubbo have long left to make names for themselves.</p><p> </p><p>Phil is alone.</p><p> </p><p>He turns from his first server, the one he had remained with his family, and goes back to his never-forgotten but almost-left-behind Hardcore servers.</p><p> </p><p>He drowns himself in builds.</p><p> </p><p>(maybe then, he can forget the way that his home is too quiet, when he goes to sleep. Maybe then, he can forget what it was like to hear Wilbur’s quiet strumming and singing to Tommy and Tubbo. Maybe then, he can forget what it was like to listen to the low murmur of Techno and Wilbur having late night conversations.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe then, he can forget that he is alone. Horribly, painfully alone.</p><p> </p><p>It almost works.</p><p> </p><p>And then Dream’s letters come.)</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>An abusive relationship. Emotional manipulation. A madman on the run, fleeing from his people’s attempts to contain him, to punish him for the horrendous crimes he’s committed.</p><p> </p><p>Phil feels sick.</p><p> </p><p>Why is it, that he always feels sick when it comes to Wilbur?</p><p> </p><p>He closes his eyes, paper crinkling in his grip, the paper with the list filled to the brim with the atrocities that the man he had raised has done.</p><p> </p><p>Vindictive satisfaction fills him, sickly and rising up his throat like acid.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe this is why he’d felt the need to kick Wilbur out, all those years ago.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe, in the back of his head, he’d been able to see it.</p><p> </p><p>(or maybe, he is the cause. Maybe Wilbur only ended up like this because Phil was never there, because once Phil <em> was </em> there he kicked him out.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe, it was Phil’s fault.</p><p> </p><p>But he never hears that.</p><p> </p><p>The paper is full of lies and he eats it up, a foolish man starving for some form of validation. Dying for something to show him that he hadn’t been wrong about Wilbur, about kicking his second son out of his home.</p><p> </p><p>He believes these lies, steps into the portal, leads himself onto the DreamSMP.</p><p> </p><p>This, this right here?</p><p> </p><p>This is where it finally falls apart.</p><p> </p><p>Or maybe it’s where it all comes together.</p><p> </p><p>Either way, it ends in blood.)</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a blur, getting into DreamSMP. Dream yanks him into the void with promises of dropping him off where he’s needed most, voice shaking with some unidentifiable emotion, and so Phil waits.</p><p> </p><p>He waits and he watches his communicator, watches it ping and watches the fluctuating statuses attached to every member’s name. Watches death messages pop up every so often, and pretends that his eyes do not stray to his kids’ names over and over again.</p><p> </p><p>God, it’d been so long since he’d seen any of them. They sent letters, of course, but that didn’t quite make up for it. Tommy could never seem to get himself to write more than half a page, sometimes not even that, so Phil barely knows the bare bones of his life. Tubbo writes long letters, but they’re similarly brief on specific details.</p><p> </p><p>(he lies, and says he isn’t bitter about that.)</p><p> </p><p>Techno writes so infrequently it's as if he doesn’t write at all. When he does write, it's scattered, like he can’t focus on the paper long enough to put down all the words. For all that he’s always been the best with speeches and writing documents, he’s never been one to divulge much.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur never writes at all. Why would he?</p><p> </p><p>Phil shouldn’t be surprised.</p><p> </p><p>Still, it hurts.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe that’s what makes him call him. Maybe that’s what makes him slip into the sole call the madman he’s been sent after resides in.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> (“it’s over,” he hears and his breath catches at the dark tone, and his hands clench because what is-?) </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>Really, what was he expecting, when it came to Wilbur?</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>“Kill me Phil, <em> kill me!” </em></p><p> </p><p>His hands are shaking, wrapped around the shimmering blade that Wilbur had pressed into his hands.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to throw it, to kick it away.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re my son,” he whispers, weak, because is it even true anymore? Had he not disowned Wilbur, years ago, that horrible night punctuated by mistakes and slammed doors? And if not then, then hadn’t he done the same when he’d first read Dream’s letters? Hadn’t he forsaken Wilbur as his eyes trailed the words spelling out every terrible, nasty thing Wilbur had done?</p><p> </p><p>“We both know that’s not true,” Wilbur laughs, spreads his arms wide, whether to showcase the destruction he’s caused or to further show just where he wants Phil to strike, Phil never wants to know. “I haven’t ever been your <em> son.” </em></p><p> </p><p>He turns away from Phil then, turns to look out onto the crater that he’s made.</p><p> </p><p>Faintly, Phil thinks that he can hear Tommy screaming through the ringing in his ears.</p><p> </p><p>“Look at them, Phil! They want you to do it! Kill me Phil, kill me! Do it! Philza, Philza, <em> Killza!” </em></p><p> </p><p>He’s going to be sick. Wilbur is suddenly in his space, demanding his own death, crowding up to him with crazed eyes. The old nickname, the nickname given to him on SMPEarth, is like a knife twisting its way into his gut. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s hands are on his, guiding the blade, settling the tip to his chest.</p><p> </p><p>Smiling.</p><p> </p><p>“Do it, Philza.”</p><p> </p><p>He does.</p><p> </p><p>(Techno screams, when he does, the sound filled with grief and anger and betrayal as the blade slides clean and burning and horrible into his twin’s body. He screams and screams and screams as Phil lets Wilbur drop, as his father drops down to stand on ground with him.</p><p> </p><p>He screams, and they fight, and Phil runs.</p><p> </p><p>Their family falls apart, but it had never really been whole in the first place, had it?)</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>Phil is alone, in the arctic. The polar opposite of the lands from Techno.</p><p> </p><p>He closes his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>He <em> cries. </em></p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wrote like three scenes for this over the course of like a week or two then just sat down and started at midnight jsut <em>writing</em> and finished this in three hours ksdhfklahkjshhdshsd</p><p>listen to Loved by the Fein because tbh it kinda fits Phil and Wilbur's relationship- Phil never sees how much Wilbur works, while he's busting ass regularly</p><p>also fun fact, since this is set in Phil's pov, these are the memories he considered memorable enough to actually look back on. With a distinct lack of Tubbo or Tommy. Wilbur is really only there because Phil's reflecting back on his life and trying to figure out where he went wrong.</p><p>comments and kudos are appreciated but not required, not pressure &lt;3 tyy all for reading!!</p><p>_<a href="https://like-that-one-weird-dog-thing.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>_</p></blockquote></div></div>
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